Why We Like Brett Favre

When I first came to Chicago, a co-worker of mine referred to the state to the north as “The Peoples’ Republic of Wisconsin”.

This guy was from downstate (way downstate), and I haven’t heard that moniker since. Besides wondering what kind of tractor my co-worker drove as a kid, it made me wonder what the average Joe thinks about neighboring sports fans.

Why not ask?

So, a few days ago I asked a life-long born and bred Chicago Bears fan what he thought about Packers fans, our cheese headed friends up the lake. It could have been taken as a loaded question. After all, the Bears season is long over after a dull, dismal run.


After a soft pause, this mouthy Chicago Irishman said, “Actually I kind of like them”.

They’re friendly. They know their sport. Lambeau Field is a comforting, top quality sports venue. Lambeau has a great beer selection, which you would only expect if you have ever been to Wisconsin. When the Packers win, they aren’t obnoxious about it.

These were a few of the reasons that a Bears fan or any fan could like Packers fans and the Frozen Tundra. And it seems that Americans in general like the Packers too.

We’ve heard time and time again, to annoying degree, about how the Dallas Cowboys are supposedly “America’s Team”. This was thought up by a Dallas Cowboys marketer, I am convinced. If anything, it is more likely that America’s team, if you had to pick one from pro Football, would be the Green Bay Packers.

For one, they are the only small town team in a league with big city teams. Green Bay’s population is around 100,000, which is less than a third that of Cincinnati and one twelfth the size of San Diego.

The fact that Green Bay has had a major pro sports team for 80 years is a major anomaly. Sure, in the UK and Italy provincial cities have grown major sports teams, mostly in Soccer. But, this doesn’t usually happen in America. To top it off, Green Bay won the first two Super Bowls and holds 12 World championships, the NFL’s highest number.

The small town becoming the champ rings a bit like the film “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington”. The film, starring an aw-shucks Jimmy Stewart, reminds us that what we like best is the underdog –the little guy—who takes on adversity and a challenge, only to triumph enormously with a little effort and a good attitude. If a sports team could audition for that role, the Packers have already nailed it

And only a week ago, I walked into a business office, like many across America, with a framed picture of Vince Lombardi and a notable quote. I don’t see SkyMall or QVC selling any inspirational frames of Tom Landry or Bill Parcels.

But for all the motivational accolades that Lombardi may have inspired in many a business seminar, I think we’re seeing something equally inspiring in the Packers’ other marvel, Brett Favre. At age 40, the year old Packer legend, now with the Vikings, is knocking on the Super Bowl’s door again.

The last time the Vikings made it to the big one was in 1977, the last of four Super Bowls the club lost in a decade. Plus it hasn’t been since the 1970’s since we saw a forty-something --George Blanda, who was mostly a kicker then at age 48-- compete in the NFL semi-final round.

Favre has prepared to retire once or twice. No one is exactly sure of the details. Some of us joke year after year that this year he will retire, hopefully. But the fact that Favre has transformed the Vikings into a potent force this year says something.

This is a club with only one post-season in the last several years, despite having a good quarterback before his arrival. Yet after years of barely getting through the season, Favre’s Vikings had twelve wins before the post-season.

But stats and achievement aside, there is a lot to like about Favre in the context of today’s pro sports. His durability in the game over the years is especially inspiring, while being only one of five NFL quarterbacks to start 100 consecutive games. Favre has long been a committed top level team player and has never taken his stature as an opportunity to brag. Maybe that’s how is should be.

Consider what other pro Football players have been up to over the years:

-Michael Vick (Dog fighting felonies)
-Randy Moss (Bumping an old lady with his car, being generally obnoxious)
-Rae Carruth (Conspiracy to Murder)
-Billy Cannon(Counterfeiting $50 Million)

True, no player should be given special praise for not being a criminal.

But it is refreshing once again to see an apt player and true professional make it so long, and so successfully in NFL Football, a game not kind to or built for old men.

Certainly there are better quarterbacks than Favre and better teams than the Vikings. But none of the others playing this weekend have the experience and the staying power to draw on, one step from the Super Bowl. And its fair to say that along the way Favre may very well have the whole chilly Midwest behind him.

Frye writes weekly about sports and life. Updates can be found here at MySports/Complex, from Twitter and on the Facebook page of the same name. With a Leinenkugel in one hand and cheese in the other, he’s taking a crack at his first book.

A** Ball: Lessons for the Mind and Behind

CYA is one of my favorite acronyms. It means “cover your ass” and is a sentiment widely disseminated throughout the business world not only from boss to drone, but from one peer to another.



The mood behind CYA, most of the time, isn’t literal. Specifically, you don’t need to cover your behind like a quail during hunting season. But every day, many of us realize that life --whether in business, family affairs, conversations, or in dealing with humans in any capacity-- consists largely of taking responsibility for what’s yours and covering your back so that you don’t get blamed for messes that are not yours. Yes: CYA is life, basically.

Probably the only thing Sarah Palin ever said that I agree with (and I’m paraphrasing) is that many of the lessons we learn in life we can learn through participating in sports. This is particularly true, I believe, during our journey from childhood to adulthood.

This whole thing about CYA came back to my mind during a walk though the playground of my old elementary school in PA called Blair Mill.

Blair Mill was a great primary school. Teachers were good. The atmosphere was gentile and nurturing. We even had a puppy dog, The Blair Mill Beagle, as our mascot. But what I remembered first, passing by the broad arch-shaped wall of the school which faced the playground, was the treacherous daily game of CYA we school kids played, known as Assball.

More frequently we called it A-ball, for the simple fact that we didn’t want to tip off recess ladies to what we were doing. We didn’t want to risk the game being banned for the bad words inherent in its name. The truth is that they had no idea what we were doing, and probably didn’t care, even about the most violent parts.

As Upper Classmen of the school, the 4th and 5th graders got claim of the big wall for whatever suited them. Previously, kids might kick a rubber kickball off the wall without much of a competitive game in mind.

What started out as a simple activity of several boys throwing a ball against a wall and trying to win the next catch, transformed itself into a more cutthroat meta-sport that consumed the later years of my childhood. As such:

The rules of A-ball:
1) Whoever has the ball (usually a tennis ball) throws it against the wall.
2) Anyone one can attempt to catch it on the rebound.
a. If you catch the ball or gather it off the ground, you get the next throw.
b. If you touch the ball but fail to catch it, you must run to the wall and touch the wall before another player can gather the ball, throw it, and hit you.
3) If you get hit with the ball before touching the wall, that’s one strike
4) If you get three strikes, here’s what happens:
a. You must go to the wall.
b. Crouch down, head touching the wall, with your rear facing the area of play.
c. Every other player lines up, and, one at a time, gets a turn to beam you in the ass with the ball.
d. Sit tight. There are about 20 to 25 other boys playing this game.

A-ball must have blossomed out of either suburban boredom or our pre-adolescent need for competition and one-upps-manship on the way to middle school. I’m sure some social scientist out there might say the game had its own Darwinian significance.

Being both a risk taker and a poor athlete at the time didn’t suit me well. I would run and try to catch the ball but my hands weren’t very good for that.

I probably spent more time crouched at the wall with three strikes than any other boy on the playground. A few times I took the ball in the face thanks to the gifted guys who could use their baseball skills to land it accurately between my feet, under my torso and into my hidden face.

Playground games like these are probably one of the reasons some boys and many girls grow up to dislike sports or be indifferent altogether. Like those who are teased, school represents something a time and a place they wished to break away from. I certainly get this.

The Blair Mill Beagle, unofficial mascot of A-ball.

Nonetheless, I had fun playing A-ball, despite the minor pains and embarrassment. But I am not 100% sure why. Perhaps this game represented some thrill and danger in the lives of sheltered and protected youths like us. Maybe on those lucky days without three strikes, I enjoyed the achievement of eluding capture.

What I probably learned, to the best of my recollection and bruises, was the ability to adapt to any situation, even adverse one, like getting pelted 25 times in the rear with a tennis ball. More than anything, I learned the value of CYA; in this life experience the fundamental value of covering your ass in everything you do, for fear of unsavory consequences.

Also, I learned about the consequences of taking a risk; in this case the simple risk was playing a game for social acceptance or even enjoyment. All in all, good training for the greater problems with greater ramifications that one must face as an adult.

I like to think that our game of A-ball was unique. But I am certain kids elsewhere with a wall and a tennis ball might have played a similar game, learning similar lessons.

And, whether you like sports or not, care or don’t care about who’s in the next Super Bowl, it is hard to deny that our playful activities as children have as much to do with shaping us as people as our work activities do now a grown ups. Hopefully along the way our experiences shed on our character not only a little humor and humility, but some important things to take away for another day.

What the world has seen in the last year and a half seems to suggest that not enough of our leaders have had adequate tests of their character, or even their CYA skills, out on life's playground.

With the world economy in the balance, CEOs of financial giants like AIG, Bear Stearns and Lehman Brothers threw up their hands amidst their failing companies as they walked off with fortunes.

We could criticize our governments too for their screw ups and not having the foresight to anticipate financial chaos borne from recklessness. It seemed, for a while that incompetence was spreading like H1N1.

Maybe looking back, we could have helped our leaders earlier with their journey through life. Or better yet, there are still lessons to be learned with the help of a little playground fun of pelting à la A-ball.

Frye writes weekly about sports and life. Updates can be found here at MySports/Complex and on his Facebook page of the same name. Just watch your behind.

A New Day at City?

When the late Sir Bobby Robson took over the helm at Newcastle as manager and head coach, he was met with fresh enthusiasm and a bit of good fortune. During his debut match against Sheffield Wednesday, Newcastle had one of its best ever games.

The Toon dominated Wednesday 8-0 as the great Alan Shearer bagged five goals on his own, with the match standing out as the most spectacular performance of the 2000 Premier League season.

Above, Shearer bags five against Wednesday. Photo credit: BBC

The appointment of Robson had followed a period of shakiness and a record of underperformance as Ruud Gullit, the Dutchman regarded as a splendid tactician on the pitch, and one of Holland’s best ever players, sputtered along as manager. What it showed was that “sexy football” sounded exciting, but was hard to achieve for a manager who didn’t have his players either behind him or playing their best football.

After a year at the head of Manchester City, Mark Hughes finds himself out, notwithstanding a respectable record in the face of immense pressure from new owners to take City to the top four.

The new man, Roberto Mancini, comes to the manager's role with some accolades such as Italian championships. He also carries more flamboyance and European attitude which may very well appeal to City’s owner and board given their ambitions.

As an observer, I thought to myself in August that if Man City were not at least in the top 6 of the table by Christmas, that Hughes would be fired. As of Saturday, when Hughes was fired, City sat at sixth place, but only because of a listless run and a 2-0 loss by Liverpool. Meanwhile, City barely pulled out a 4-3 win to a mediocre Sunderland.

While not cut from the same cloth as Robson, Mancini is in a similar situation, with a talented squad, presumably apt to challenge for the title if handled properly.

No need to go down the roster player by player. But with at least five top notch strikers amidst other offensive options in midfield, such as Shaun Wright-Phillips, Petrov and others, the scoring has gone well for City. Yet it is no secret that the underwhelming results lie with poor defensive play.

Wins have been impressive, as City stuck it to Arsenal twice this season, and beat up on leaders Chelsea. But seven draws this season suggest that City’s players lack either confidence or commitment to winning games while they are ahead.

If half Man City’s ties ended up as wins, let's say even against the worst of their competitors, City could be sitting in 3rd place right now. On Nov 7, City blew a lead three times against Burnley just by being clumsy. Hull scored a late but predictable equalizer just before full time on Nov 28. And City also blew a 2-1 lead against a wobbly Liverpool thirty seconds after they put themselves in the lead.

So it’s no wonder that, for a club with a new owner, tons of cash, a new stadium, and several new and expensive players, that the manager’s head would roll for not winning more games.

For Mancini, making some right moves could go along way for the new manager. With current captain Kolo Toure skipping in and out of injury, Mancini should appoint Gareth Barry as the new skipper. The midfielder has been a dependable force in City’s run so far, and stands out as the most mature and level headed player the club has.

Plus given some players’ affinity for nonsense on the field (Bellamy and Adebayor, especially), Barry’s appointment as captain would set the tone right away that it’s all serious business going forward.

Another matter will be what to do with Robinho. Either Mancini will need to make their talented Brazilian productive right away or write him off and find a way to get him out of the squad, especially if the forward starts moaning.

Lastly, the new gaffer will need to see that transfer window as an opportunity to tighten up his defensive options. City need no new strikers. But a solid, reliable set of defenders with a determined work ethic will be much more important than name or raw talent. Fans need to know that their cash is going toward committed players who share their vision for long term success, not just cocky hotshots shopping for a new destination elsewhere at the first calling.

Mancini’s time at City will likely be one of two things: either a fantastic success or a rip-roaring failure. For whatever reason, my hunch tells me the new era at City will not a repeat of the relatively boring years under Kevin Keegan.

Nor will it be the gradual slide toward the bottom of the table and lower league football that City fans endured under Peter Reid and Joe Royle. For sure, this is a good thing. Such ups and downs are all too painfully familiar for this great club.

Many would agree that it is about time that the English Premier League have a little variety at the top of the table. City provide an exciting story, and an agitating thrill against Man United's dominance from across town. Meanwhile renewed momentum at Aston Villa and Tottenham are, at least for now, giving the other big boys in red --Arsenal and Liverpool-- a reason to worry about their whether they will still be among the big four.

Toward this pursuit, only time, talent, big cash, and a little flamboyance will tell.

Frye writes weekly about sports and life. Updates can be found here at MySports/Complex and on his Facebook page of the same name. Go blue.

Football: Mounting traditions

It’s been over a decade and a half since Chucky Mullins died. Leroy “Chucky” Mullins was a cornerback for the University of Mississippi who was paralyzed after he made a tackle during a game against SEC rival Vanderbilt in 1989.

Subsequent to the injury Mullins died about a year and a half later. Since then Ole Miss has retired number 38, Mullins’ jersey number, the only Ole Miss jersey to be retired since NFL Hall of Famer Archie Manning’s. In Mullins’ honor, the players participate in the annual “Grove Bowl”.

Before the Grove Bowl, a scrimmage between the Ole Miss’s best players, one senior defensive player receives the Chucky Mullins Memorial Courage Award, bestowing on him the tradition and honor of wearing the 38 jersey for the matchup.

Parallel traditions exist elsewhere. At Moody, a bible college in Chicago without a collegiate football program, football tradition is carried through the Fall intramurals. Intramural men’s football is a big deal here and performance is observed closely. The best of the league’s players get to participate, by invitation only, in the North-South Bowl pitting the two ends of a small campus against each other for a big, big game.

What is it about Football that compels Americans to build traditions?

I have never gotten an answer to this question, and I probably never will. But I got a little buzzed on the punch, and got maybe a little insight, just by following mundane tradition for once.

That tradition was a visit, as an alumnus, to the Thanksgiving Day football game at my high school back home. It was the first time I partook in this ritual in 17 years.

Unlike in Chicago, high schools in Pennsylvania and much of the East Coast play their biggest rival on Turkey Day, rain or shine, whether or not the remainder of the season holds anything to play for.

I wasn’t attending per se to fulfill any ritual. No one dragged me out of bed. I guess this morning I just wanted some black coffee and a fresh look at what I thought was so important about the whole thing back then.

And on this day, hell, it was one of the best games I’ve ever seen.

During the four years I attended Hatboro-Horsham High, this matchup was always a rout in our favor. We regarded our rivals, Upper Moreland (UM), unfairly as the kids from the “other side of the tracks” with no manners and aggressive yet unimpressive football tactics; never as good as our Hatters.

As a geeky student council member, I had job of presenting roses to the Homecoming Court, a group of pretty girls voted on the court for being pretty; a strange competition in its own rite. All this, while contending with stare downs from the meat head boyfriends who escorted them to the 50 Yard Line; another ritual.

UM had their prettiness competition too. Supposedly their girls were escorted on-field not by meat heads, but by ex-cons. I didn’t start that rumor, though I wish I’d thought of it. The story went on one year that the other side’s Homecoming Queen was knocked up.

Our school killed the Homecoming Court years ago, which is probably a good thing. So now there is no superficial pageantry, no distractions, just football. It was all about the game. But back then, the trash talk was its own tradition dished out from both sides; and that was one tradition I always took part in.

UM took control of this game for the first 40 minutes of this muddle-through in the mud. They scored the majority of the points, a whopping two touchdowns, that were well earned and clinically, albeit slowly, executed. The Hatters managed to get close a few times, trudging with effort down the field, only to get stopped each time.

UM’s 14-0 score line held for a while. Within the last quarter the Hatters made it 14-7 with the extra point after a shaky ball barely got through from the kicker’s foot up to the wind between the upright posts.

Sure, the score did not impress anyone, really. This was all about a contest of wills between a group of 17 and 18 year old boys who, from my vantage point on the side line, fought like men. Maybe fulfilling tradition had something to do with it.

At one point, I looked behind me right after the Hatters had fumbled the ball. The band played some annoying, peppy tune, doing their usual rom-pom-pom, and I caught with my eye a block of about 100 disgruntled HH fans looking their way in unison with a disapproving glare.

Clearly the scowls weren’t looking forward to turkey and mash potatoes right now… Maybe just an opportunity to save face and get the ball again.

And the Hatters did.

Somehow they got the ball again after UM had dallied around for a few plays, amidst their overconfidence that this game was theirs. Near game’s end, 45 seconds sat on the clock with an opportunity for HH to fill or kill.

Within two plays, HH came within a point with a touchdown pass. Then the Hatters went for the two-point conversion, which I’ve never seen in a high school game, taking the score to 15-14.

The Hatters did more within the last 20 seconds, picking off a last chance UM pass to seal the deal.

Afterward, the band rolled onto the field, while fans stormed it. And as the tradition goes, the coach got soaked in ice water and Gatorade. Good thing it was an untraditional 58 degrees out.

The thought crossed my mind, that is must be moments like these that get every fan to the game on a holiday. What better way to warm up to the thought of an 18 course meal and boring TV shows to come.

So what are the nuts and bolts of Football’s appeal? A good win. Suspense. The challenge of a match up and the twists and turns that remind us of every day life, etc. etc.

I don’t know if that’s it, since every sport has suspense. However, there’s something about American Football that makes people engage in rituals like the tailgate before game even on much colder days.

After all, what suspense and holiday excitement can you find better than a last minute win for your home side? For me, conveniently, this great ending came as a homecoming gift upon my first return in 17 years. What a nice welcome home.

I guess I’ll have to consider coming back year after year, making it a tradition maybe, to find that suspense again and again. And if next year doesn’t carry the tradition of suspense and a big win, there’s always the next 16 after that.